


don't care if it's all true (i want you)

by penlex



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Female Friendship, Past Abuse, Pets, Press and Tabloids, Roller Derby, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penlex/pseuds/penlex
Summary: Selina phones a friend for help with protecting Harley and Ivy from you-know-who, and it results in a very strange new dynamic duo.(repost after rewriting)





	don't care if it's all true (i want you)

**Author's Note:**

> title and chapter titles taken from Lady Wood by Tove Lo

"S-so," the interviewer asks. He's a tiny little thing. Adorable. Might be his first real celeb gig, and he had the luck to nab her - out of everybody! He must be Irish. "Have you decided on a designer for your dress yet?"

" _Oooh_ ," Harley gushes, wiggles in her seat. She can tell her excited face hasn't changed at all from the way the poor kid gets real pale and leans even further out of her space. But that kinda adds to her fun. "I think Brucie and I might design it ourselves! Wouldn't that be so much fun?"

"Design it yourselves," the interviewer repeats, aghast but trying not to show it. Harley hits him with that coy look that always gets a mark to sit right in the palm of her hand like a little bird. Well. Not  _certain_ kinds of birds, but she's got all the rest.

"Well," she demures, tucking her chin and pressing at her glossed bottom lip with one perfect French tip. "I guess I'm not 'bouta say _no_ to a Vera Wang, since he's buying…"

The article comes out three days later in the Gotham City Snitch. Funny name for a gossip rag, but Harley figures normal people have to embrace that whole crime culture schtick at least a little or they'll all lose it. Harley would know.

There's a sweet pap pic of her and Bruce taking up the whole cover, their heads overlaid on top of the publication's logo and everything. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she's smiling around a red sucker that's dyed her lips, wearing one of his shirts that nearly covers the suede shorts he bought her underneath. His mouth is titled up to one side, his lips somehow untainted by his own purple sucker, his shirtsleeves rolled up so that his watch catches the flash, the leopard print framed sunglasses he bought her sliding down low on his nose. Each of them has a one-handed grip on the leash of a hyena, their free hands clasped together. The headline reads **_ǫᴜɪɴɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀʏɴᴇ: ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟ? ᴏʀ ɪꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴀꜱʜ?_ ** Big, bold, italic, with a shadow.

Next to the Snitch is the Gotham Crier. Their shot is one of Harley with Bruce cropped out so that it looks like she was without him when it was taken. There's one of those circular close-up bubbles on her hand to show off one of Bruce's credit cards, the relevant numbers conveniently hidden behind the diamond on the ring he bought her. The headline is this or that about gold digging. But the next in the lineup... Now that's the real gem.

 **_ᴀ ʜᴀʀʟᴇʏ ǫᴜɪɴɴ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ_** , says the one and only People Magazine over top of a studio quality but not studio shot photograph of her during one of her roller derby matches, the outfit her signature red and black, and Bruce all in white where he leans over the dirty rink to catch a kiss from her as she skates past. **_ʙʀᴜᴄᴇ ᴡᴀʏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴏᴋᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴇx - ʜᴇʀ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ꜱᴄᴏʀᴇ_**.

"Yahtzee!" Harley squeals, more obnoxious than even her usual, because it's the most beautiful thing she has ever seen in her entire life.

(Bruce buys it for her. Her belly swoops. She's in big trouble.)

-

It was Selina's idea to begin with. Harley goes to Ivy first, with her babies in tow. Joker had hit them and Harley's belly had swooped, but not in the usual way. Not in the way it had swooped when he had told her that first innocent joke that she knew was a trick but fell for anyway, not the way it had swooped when he'd let her see him cry, or the way it swooped when he'd called her his property, or when he'd sent her that rose bud.

No, not like that. Harley had heard one hyena yelp, and then the other, heard them nervously echo the Joker's laughter, and her belly had swooped like it had way back when she was still just his doctor and she'd heard he'd escaped for the first time. It swooped like it had when her plans hadn't been good enough for him, like it had when he hadn't liked her jokes, like it had on that roof before that stupid rose bud. Harley had peered into the room where her proud, beautiful babies were cowering under chairs and her belly had not un-swooped when she'd looked up and seen Joker's grinning face, like it always had before. So she knocks him out with the anesthetic he stole last week (Harley had stayed home. She's out of Arkham legally right now, and she's really trying to keep it that way this time). Then she takes her hyenas and the rest of the drugs and she leaves.

"It's for real this time, Red," she tells Ivy, and Ivy's mouth twists sharply but she doesn't argue.

"If it's for real," she says, "then we need a plan." So they call Selina, and Selina says, "Let me phone a friend," and then a week later when Joker has had all of Ivy's known greenhouses burned down and the two of them are staying with Selina in her real house to hide from the threats he's put out for their whereabouts she says, "Let me call again." That night, Selina tosses her phone down on the bed between the three of them (she wouldn't let the babies into her room) and the screen tells them that The Batman is on speaker.

"He's confident you'll come back because he thinks he can get to you anywhere you go," Batman explains, his voice three times as distorted as usual through so-so cell reception. "We just have to put you somewhere that beatings and bribes don't talk, and then make sure everyone knows it."

"Well," Selina drawls. "I for one can't think of any place like that." It's very obvious that she can. Harley likes her style, as always. Batman sighs, very deeply and for a very long time, and it sounds like one of those cool static lamps when it gets overworked.

"The Rutherford gala," he finally concedes wearily. "I trust you to work out the details." He hangs up and Selina grins across at Harley, licking her lips like she missed a drop of cream or canary.

"How do you feel about Bruce Wayne?" she purrs.

-

The first journalist that approaches Harley after the 'gala' is Vicki Vale herself, and she doesn't ask any of that fun stuff like 'what is he _really_ like in bed?' and 'how expensive are those shoes?' (Those particular questions are ones Harley quickly learns are _especially_ delightful to make up her responses for.) Instead, fancy Reputable Reporter Vicki Vale asks Harley things like 'has it been difficult for you to adjust to a more crime-free lifestyle?' and 'do you have concerns about people from before your rehabilitation coming back into your life?' and 'do you have a license to own exotic pets?' and other questions that don't have made up answers.

And then, at the end, off the record, Ms. Vale asks Harley, "What are your intentions with Bruce?" and that one doesn't have any answer at all. It's not that Harley feels any kind of guilty for taking Mr. Wayne off the market under false pretenses, for taking up space in his house (he has plenty), for getting let in on his identity when she never really earned it. Nothing like that. But not feeling guilty about it don't make her intentions any less dishonest. And Reputable Reporter Vicki Vale doesn't seem too charitable towards dishonesty.

" _Sooo_ ," the second journalist asks, after introducing herself, and Harley is instantly relieved. This one is bleached blonde and covered head to toe in pale shades of pink, with a pom pom on the top of her pen, and the blush on her cheeks ain't powder. A woman after Harley's own heart. Cowabunga. "How did you two meet?" Harley giggles and touches the woman's knee, and spins her a wild and romantic fantasy out of the foundations of the truth.

"Oh, I guess I was being a little _bad_ again, you know?" she admits bashfully, and her captive audience's eyes brighten for her eagerly. "I heard about this party and I thought, you know, I got nothing else working for me so maybe I could just try to _copycat_ all those deep pockets and mine would fill up too." Harley winks here, thinking of the dress Selina had stuffed her into. Black, of course, satin or silk or something else shimmery and slick that Harley doesn't know about (yet), not super accommodating to their size difference, and no pockets to speak of. In that getup, real flowers woven into her loosely done hair courtesy of Ivy, it takes the other attendees nearly an hour and a half to start recognizing her, and by then no one can remember who'd had enough gall to bring her in with them. And besides, the real dish is who'd had enough to take her home.

"Was it love at first sight?" is another one Harley hears a lot, once they start coming in. She gets all dewy eyed and quiet for a second, and nods before sighing, "He was such a gentleman. We had a few dances and a few drinks. And he never once brought up the old me." As a matter of fact, as he'd wrapped one hand around hers and tucked the other into the small of her back, Batman had greeted her from Mr. Wayne's mouth with an entirely too bland, "Doctor Quinzel," and then informed her, just as tonelessly, "I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt that this isn't one of your boyfriend's tricks as a reluctant personal favor to our mutual acquaintance." Harley had called him _puddin'_ just to see him flinch; he did not deliver. His hands felt too big, too warm, too gentle against skin used to the bony-fingered and violent touches of the Joker.

"How do you feel about his _reputation_?" When they ask that they say it like it's the same as _genital slugs_ , and Harley always feels just a little bit bad for Mr. Wayne. Especially now, since now she knows he never did sleep around half as much as he led everyone on to believe. Regardless, there ain't nothin' wrong with being a slut, and sometimes that's what Harley says. Sometimes she'll remind them that she don't have a high horse to stand on (they look confused, but never correct her). Most of the time though, Harley hints that there's more to Bruce Wayne than meets the public eye. It's a thrill to be in the know, and when the very first headlines start hitting the stands, the ones that never had any interview attached, it's the cave - the actual Bat Cave (holy smokes!) - that Harley dances around, singing that Christina Aguilera song off-key, accompanied by the happy yips and growls of her babies, until the real live bats on the ceiling scream at them.

The paparazzi are always sure to get a few shots of them any time they go out together, and they step up their game snapping ones when Mr. Wayne is out on his own too. The two of them go on dates to the ballet and the opera (boring), out shopping (speaking of pockets, _dang_ ), and to FroYo and the boardwalk (Harley discovers that hyenas do not like popcorn, and that children do not like hyenas unless they are at the zoo). They kiss when the bushes rustle, and he puts his hand too low when he helps her into the car. The smell of expensive cologne and leather seats becomes as familiar to Harley as the smells of moist earth, cat food, and stage makeup.

In private, they don't see much of each other. Wayne Manor is huge in a sad way, an empty space around every corner. Harley and the babies are not the biggest fans, and it doesn't seem that the man of the house is too fond of it either. Harley gets lonely quick but she's not sure what Mr. Wayne (or Alfred, for that matter) would do if she snuck Selina or Ivy inside (the tolerance for pseudo-domesticated animals is already tenuous at best, she doubts it would be so graciously extended to unreformed criminals), so instead she starts waiting up for him to come back from patrol and shares quiet space with him while he continues the work on the Cave's fancy computer(s?) and the babies sleep. There's not much going on right now. Batman works on hunting down the Joker, and every now and then Eddie needs a good punch in the schnozz, and other than that it's all quick and dirty street fights with pimps and mobsters.

At first, the Batman freezes when he sees Harley Quinn and her hyenas waiting for him at home, but soon enough he gets used to them. After a while he switches from Bat to man - or back - in front of her, peeling off or applying layers so that Harley gets to see with her own two eyes the lack of difference between the Batman and Bruce. He starts slouching. He comes down to breakfast in his silly rich boy pajamas and his terrible bedhead and takes a mug of coffee from her without running a chemical diagnostic on it first. He even trusts her enough that when she starts getting restless (read: aggressive with the people on TV, and the bats, and his possessions) instead of getting antsy right back, he introduces her to Summer Gleeson - conveniently also a reporter, but more relevantly the captain of a roller derby team - and vouches for her when the other girls are iffy about letting her on. He comes to a few matches to get his photo taken watching her, and pretends he doesn't see Selina (supposedly using the gambling ring as an excuse to be here, actually betting) and Ivy (incognito, very bad at it).

"This was a terrible plan," Ivy says outside a match. Harley's team won, obviously. Ivy is sharing a victory joint with her. Bruce is waiting by the car, conveniently looking in the wrong direction.

"It's working, isn't it?" Selina mutters, paying more attention to counting her money. She got a lot this time because one girl on the other team was almost six foot. Harley takes a drag and watches Bruce's back. His suit is stupid, his watch is stupider, and the look on his face as he inspects an imaginary scratch on the car is the stupidest. She thinks probably someone would try to mug him if everyone here didn't know he was with her.

"I like him," she blurts out, and then quickly hands the joint back to Ivy. It's been a while.

"You _what_?" Ivy demands. Her voice is shrill, and Bruce's head snaps up. He assesses the situation quickly and when he concludes that there's no trouble he pastes on a doofy smile and waves at Harley like a child, like he just noticed she'd come outside and is excited to see her. She grins and waves back. It's pretty much genuine.

"He's sweet, Red," she says.

"Men aren't sweet," Ivy insists, and very un-casually does not pass to Harley again.

"That one is," Selina argues cheerfully, and she and Harley both laugh at Ivy's sour look. It's all the funnier because if he heard them he'd look just the same as her.

After making her way over to the car, Harley presses a kiss into Bruce's mouth. She hears the dull snap of a camera flash going off immediately and when she pulls back Bruce blinks at her in approval. They got the shot, he opens the door, but before he can step all the way back to let her in first Harley crowds back into his space and gives him another kiss. Just because kisses are nice, and so is he. He blinks at her in bemusement this time. It's almost as cute as the bedhead that sticks up over the top of the trashy magazine he's reading in the morning, with their kissing photo on the cover.

The real newspapers don't do anything about it except probably make sure they got somebody keeping an extra special eye on the both of them until Bruce ensures that he gets caught picking out the engagement ring by himself a few weeks later. (Harley fills those weeks with extra kisses for Bruce when she thinks he deserves something nice. It's not like she could buy him something, and she doubts he'd be any happier to hear a thank you than she'd be to say it. He never turns her away.)

Bruce pops the ring out after dinner (Alfred made plain old grilled cheese even though Harley knows she hasn't asked for it recently, and he didn't say anything when she fed her babies pieces under the table. She should have known it was happening tonight). Bruce's hands feel familiar now when he takes Harley's, and she knows that the pink sleep pants he's kneeling in were a gag gift from one of those birds she could never catch. None of this romancey stuff is necessary, since this was the plan from the beginning, and it's not needed for her to say yes either, but she plays along anyway. Bruce's mouth curls up in a soft smile and he murmurs, "Yahtzee," as he slides the ring onto Harley's finger. He picked that up from her, she thinks, and her belly swoops. Weird.

"Have you really thought this through?" asks a Mr. Clark Kent from the Metropolis Daily Planet the next morning. After living the lifestyle of the rich and famous with Bruce for a stretch, Harley can tell the schmuck's suit doesn't fit right. And also his tie doesn't match. And his glasses are dirty. (And he's a jerk; she is a prize peach.)

"I've got it covered," says Bruce, his arm resting on the back of Harley's chair. She cuddles into his chest and shoots Mr. Kent that one grin she knows he'll have seen before because he's rude and he deserves it and she hopes she scares him off. If he's bothered at all he doesn't let it show. Extra rude. When he leaves, Harley wrinkles her nose and sticks her tongue out at his back. Bruce does that thing he does instead of laughing (because apparently Justice is an insomniac and Vengeance is a sourpuss, and Bruce Wayne is all of the above).

"So what's next, boss?" Harley asks. She doesn't move away. Neither does he, so she can feel it when he takes a deep breath and lets it out as a thoughtful sigh. He tilts his head back, probably doing something unnecessarily complicated in his head, and Harley watches the way the skin under his jaw gets taut. She catches a stronger whiff of the cologne at his pulse, and has the sudden urge to give him one of her thank you kisses right on that spot. She blinks and realizes she's leaned in close enough that her nose is almost touching him.

Her belly swoops.

Weird.

"Next," Bruce finally says to the ceiling, his voice edging into husky Batman territory despite the setting, "is some more interviews. Draw out the gold-digger angle for a while, make sure your new price tag is well illustrated. We should also probably remind everyone about your more unsavory skills, so that you don't accidentally become Gotham's Princess." Harley's heart rate picks up, and she sits straight, that same old grin creeping back over her face. (Bruce isn't bothered, and he shows it. Harley's belly swoops. Weird.)

"I get to be scary?" she clarifies hopefully, starting to bounce. Bruce doesn't laugh.

"Yes, you get to be scary," he confirms with a crooked mouth. "Harley."

Her belly swoops.

Uh-oh.


End file.
